


One Bourbon, hold the Sarsaparilla

by grimmlin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Flirting, Bartender Castiel (Supernatural), First Meetings, Human Castiel, Hunter Dean Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 02:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15962825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmlin/pseuds/grimmlin
Summary: Dean is finished with a hunt and goes in search of a drink. The piano bar he enters screams pretentious, but the man behind the bar might be worth a try.





	One Bourbon, hold the Sarsaparilla

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a silly thing that was prompted by a notebook I was gifted. Oddly enough, I kind of like it despite this probably being the shortest fic I've ever written.

                “So, what brings _you_ in _here_?” The bartender’s gravel rough voice comes with far too much emphasis on the ‘you’ portion of that sentence as he rakes his startling blue eyes over Dean’s well-worn flannel. He might strain a muscle with all that judgement.

                Dean bristles, cursing the juvenile little shit at the carnival who recommended this place. He should have just let the ghost throw the little punk off the Ferris Wheel if this is the thanks he gets for saving him. All Dean wants is a stiff drink and someone to lean on for the night, well…maybe not just _lean_ on, but a man can hope. Right? He doesn’t want to deal with this type of hoity toity bullshit though. If the bartender didn’t strike him as such a prick, Dean would probably just order a shot and leave. Find somewhere else.

But, those bright blue eyes are still staring, waiting, and Dean catches himself staring awkwardly into those bottomless pools that pass for eyes on this judgmental bastard. The bartender raises a demanding brow and cocks his head slightly, pulling Dean from his stupor.

Dean ducks his head to hide his slightly embarrassed flush and decides to throw the same judgmental tone right back at the guy. “I was _told_ this place had _quite_ the view” Dean does his best imitation of a drawl as he rakes his gaze up and down the now squinting bartender and frowns despite his approval of the man’s features. He knows his terrible southern accent isn’t fooling anyone and he lets the faintest corner of his mouth twitch up in a smirk, just in case the guy is paying close enough attention to notice. “But I’m not so sure” He adds dismissively with a shrug. He won’t admit as much, but he quite likes the view from this side of the bar and doesn’t actually want to insult the guy. That artfully tousled hair screams _just fucked_ in the most inviting way and Dean can’t resist the thrill that shoots through his gut at the thought of tangling his fingers in those nearly black locks.

He really is a glutton for punishment. There is no way in hell this guy would go for him after glaring like that.

                The man hmms as he leans over the bar as his gaze travels Dean’s body once again. Dean can’t help but notice the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt are rolled to his elbows, showcasing well-muscled forearms and his slate grey waistcoat showcases the bulge of his shoulders beautifully. Dean’s mouth goes dry at the sight, and sudden closeness. Dean feels a magnetic pull towards the other man and finds himself leaning towards him without giving the motion any proper thought. Dean catches a flash of blue as he leans closer, close enough to feel the man’s hot breath on his ear when he speaks. “I think maybe just a Sarsaparilla for you then, cowboy” The man replies in an accent as equally bad as Dean’s and his rough voice runs down Dean’s spine like an electric spark.

                The man leans back with a flirtatious wink and reaches for a tall pint glass, spinning it easily in hand. Dean bursts out a laugh. He can’t help it. “Add a shot of that apple crown and you’ve got a deal” Dean says playfully, dropping the accent, as he slaps a twenty on the bar and the bartender grins, eyes lighting with mirth.

                “That choice may be cause for controversy” The bartender leans forward conspiratorially, turning his head sideways as if to whisper.

                “Oh?” Dean can’t help but play along and leans closer once more.

                “You see, the strong flavor of the sarsaparilla will leave the Canadian whiskey tasting oxidized. And the apple just won't go _at all_ ” The darker haired man rolls his eyes as he explains the errors of his request.

                “I see” Dean cocks his head slightly, barely bothering to contain his grin. “Then what would you recommend?” He slides his hand halfway across the bar in offering, the smooth mahogany cool under his fingertips. He knows nothing will likely come of this, bartenders just flirt and put up with being flirted with to get better tips. Dean isn’t an idiot. The guy probably isn’t interested at all, but damn is this a fun game to play.

                “Hmmm, something American I think. Tall and dark” His blue eyes darken as he eyes Dean’s hand on the bar. “A little rough maybe, something you’ll feel the next day for sure” He winks and Dean’s stomach lodges in his throat as all his blood rushes south. The bartender leans forward and Dean doesn’t bother to resist the magnetic pull towards the guy. The man presses so close that Dean can almost feel the smile on his lips and his warm breath is unmistakable on the shell of Dean’s ear. “Something hard and thick on the tongue maybe?”

                Dean’s breath is heavy, labored almost and he doesn’t dare to move. “Something tells me you’re not talking liquor anymore” He whispers, barely loud enough to hear himself but the throaty chuckle in his ear lets him know that he’s been heard.

                “Mmmm….perceptive” The man hums, making no move to pull away. “My shift is over an hour. Do think bourbon might tide you over until we can get off?” The rough voice slides like silk over Dean’s body and he fights a full body shiver at the promise in that slightly demanding tone.

                Dean swallows hard and nods. “Yeah” He barely manages to squeak. He can wait. He’ll gladly wait.

                The bartender runs his fingers down Dean’s arm as he pulls back, sliding them delicately across the back of his hand that still rests on the bar top between them. The man grins, eyes crinkling in the corners and Dean grins back easily, stifling a nervous laugh. He can’t believe his luck.

                The bartender turns to grab a bottle off the shelf. A shelf rather higher than Dean’s normal drink of choice. “This is one of my favorites” He smiles, the judgement in his eyes replaced with unabashed hunger. “Goes down smooth but the flavor lingers nicely. I look forward to having a taste later” He winks and pours Dean three fingers worth before sliding the glass across the bar.

                Their hands brush as Dean accepts the glass and his stomach flips with the excited rush of the moment. “If its as good as you say, I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait” He winks back, throwing out the infallible Dean Winchester smirk. He takes a slow sip, letting the amber liquid glide over his tongue and makes sure to hold the bartender’s gaze. The man looks downright famished the way he stares and his breath hitches when Dean’s tongue darts out to swipe a stray drop of bourbon from his lip.  “Name’s Dean, by the way”

                The bartender smiles brightly and shakes off the heat in his gaze. “I’m Castiel”

                Dean smiles back “Well Cas, nice to meet ya”

 


End file.
